by Joe Siano
My lifelong fascination with music started the moment the Beatles landed in Queens.
In those days, South Jersey had no “cool” record stores with passionate
and knowledgeable staff. What I had was
the Two Guys of Cherry Hill record department with indifferent cashier clerks.
Two Guys was Jersey’s own Walmart before we had Walmart. If it was legal and smaller than a car, you could get it at Two Guys
The Two Guys record department was my music Mecca. Its alluring album jackets and enticing 45
sleeves called out, “buy me”, “take me home”, “make me yours”. I was "the kid" and it was my "candystore".
But among the Rock/Pop, Soul, Jazz, Classical, and Vocalists
(Frank, Dino, etc.) sections was the
aisle of Folk & Country.
To my knowledge, Folk was the tunes of bygone days. It was songs like Tom Dooley, Shenandoah, and
Red River Valley that Sister Miriam Gerald taught us at after-school guitar
lessons. They were fun and easy to play,
but I was not going to spend what little money I had on Folk Music records.
And what was Country? I had no
clue. Was it Roy Rogers singing Happy Trails at the end of each week’s show?
Little did I understand that the Fab Four music that I loved was steeped
in the Rockabilly sounds of country boys Carl Perkins, Buddy Holly, Buck Owens,
and their compadres at Sun Records and in Bakersfield.
Britannica confirms my early perceptions: “folk music, (a) type of traditional and generally rural music that originally was passed down
through families and other small social groups. Typically, folk music …is
learned through hearing rather than reading.”
In time, I saw that there were at least three factions in the Folk
camp.
The first, I call the Archivists. They adhered to the Britannica definition of keeping the traditional, old music alive.
The second, I call "Folkish" artists who perform original, copyrighted material in a folky style. The Folkish folks divide into two factions: The Winners and the Whiners.
The Winners were ambitious young singer/songwriters hoping for multi-platinum
success in the mainstream music industry.
They bided their time and honed their craft, hoping to get discovered in
the folkie coffee houses. The pay was pitiful, but the stages were open
to anyone with a guitar and cojones.
Papa John Phillips captured the zeitgeist in CreequeAlley:
John and Mitchy were gettin' kind of itchy
Just to leave their folk music behind;
Zal and Denny workin' for a penny
Tryin' to get a fish on the line
In a coffee house Sebastian sat
And after every number they'd pass the hat
McGuinn and McGuire just a-gettin' higher in L.A.,
You know where that's at
And no one's gettin' fat except Mama Cass
Mugwumps, high jumps, low slumps, big bumps
Don't you work as hard as you play
Make up, break up, everything is shake up
Guess it had to be that way
Sebastian and Zal formed the Spoonful
Michelle, John, and Denny gettin' very tuneful
McGuinn and McGuire just a catchin' fire
In L.A., you know where that's at
And everybody's gettin' fat except Mama Cass
And California dreamin' is becomin' a
reality
Whether it was fashionable to admit it, these hippies were authentic
capitalists. They went all in, investing
their youth, imagination, and effort for a shot at the brass ring. They fought to climb the Billboard charts, win the
hearts of music fans, and earn their slice of American Pie. As capitalists always
do, these young bucks grew the industry so there was plenty more pie for
everyone.
Pete Seeger was the preeminent Folkish Whiner of his day. He was a card-carrying Communist. The
Whiners lined up behind Seeger, bashing American free enterprise and liberty.
Intolerant ideological twits that they are, they booed and threw trash at Dylan
as he tried to advance his art and audience by going electric at Newport.
The Whiners are no fun
Whiny Folk is a top-down phenomenon. From their high perches in Cambridge, Palo Alto, and Greenwich Village, the Whiners sow discontent. They have beehives in their bonnets about this country that gave them and millions of others a good life. Allinskyists with strings is what they are, selling glorious revolution.
Whiny Folk is a boutique item for the elite and the deluded. The American masses never bought it. Never have, never will.
I waded into the Country pond slowly.
The deeper I went, the better it felt.
By my senior year at a Michigan cow-college, Y'all Come Back Saloon and Kenny Rogers’ Lucille were car-cruising favorites. These songs
stirred the soul while breaking hearts.
In a bar in Toledo, across from the depot
On a bar stool she took off her ring
I thought I'd get closer, so I walked on over
I sat down and asked her her name
When the drinks finally hit her, she said "I'm no quitter
But I finally quit living on dreams
I'm hungry for laughter and here ever after
I'm after whatever the other life brings"
In the mirror I saw him, and I closely watched him
I thought how he looked out of place
He came to the woman, who sat there beside me
He had a strange look on his face
The big hands were calloused, he looked like a mountain
For a minute I thought I was dead
But he started shaking his big heart was breaking
He turned to the woman and said
"You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille
With four hungry children and a crop in the field
I've had some bad times, lived through some sad times
But this time your hurting won't heal
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille"
Jazz great, Charlie Parker loved Country. When his jazz peers asked what he saw in this hayseed music, he replied, “Listen to the stories.”
In many ways, Country is like metal.
"We don’t have stars in metal, just fans who got on
stage."
Thus says Lemmy of Motorhead.
That’s Country. It is bottom-up;
real stories, by real people for real people.
A few County fans may be saints, but most are sinners. They drink, cuss, brawl, cheat, formicate, get arrested, go to
jail, love their kids, disappoint their loved ones, and struggle to pay
bills. They’re not proud of their
misbehavior. They are contrite, praying that Jesus forgives them
They know life is tough, their bosses may be jerks, and the
government is not on their side. Still,
they believe America is the finest place of all. With perseverance,
hard work, and faith, they will get by.
They get knocked down, but they get up again.
Country songs tell their fans that they are not alone. The songs tell of the many good folks facing problems like theirs.
The music helps them to blow off steam, shake their booties, and face another
day. It makes the beer taste better.
The Two Guys Discount Department Store and its Record Department are long gone, but now, at least, I appreciate the difference between Folk and Country.
Post Script
I spent my working career documenting my marketing investment recommendations to clients. With that, I offer a Google AI summary of the Country and Folk audiences in my formative years. I believe they hit the mark,
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Half the people are drowned and the other half are swimming in the wrong
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- Paul Simon
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